Goodbye
by unpredictablemary
Summary: "But right now, she gave in to the pain, and if Matthew was thankful for anything on this wretched night, it was that he was there for her as she did." Not super polished, just thoughts I had to write down after the last episode. Spoilers, don't read if you haven't watched 3x05! My thoughts on how Mary might have coped after the night ended.


It felt like there must be something to be done. When disaster struck and the world was crashing down around your head, that generally required action, didn't it? But there was nothing. The family stood in the hallway unable to make eye contact with each other, listening to Branson sobbing in the bedroom and hardly believing that this was happening. With a defeated shrug, Lord Grantham finally kissed his daughters and set off towards bed. Everyone else dispersed without a word, moving down the hall like sleepwalkers. Mary felt like a shadow as she walked next to Matthew. She _was _a shadow. She would never be the old Mary again. Everything had changed.

Mary reached their bedroom first and she opened the door. Every noise they made felt too loud. Her chest felt hollow. Well, that wasn't surprising. Her heart had been left on that bed next to Sybil. Next to Sybil's dead body.

Mary shed her dressing gown and turned to find Matthew behind her. She couldn't meet his eyes. He made to put his arms around her, but Mary stopped him, because she knew his touch would make her cry. She just needed to sleep; they all needed to sleep. They could face the world in the morning.

"I love you, Matthew," Mary said quietly, and she got into bed with her back facing her husband's side. She waited with her breath held until she felt Matthew's weight next to her, and then she curled up around the blankets as tightly as she could and closed her eyes even tighter. It was a long time before she heard her husband's breath slip into a shallow rhythm, and even longer before sleep came to her.

It was only a few hours later when Mary awoke again. It felt as if she hadn't been asleep at all, and it was still dark outside. How long would this cruel night last? Mary realized there were hot tears on her face. She touched her palm to them, as if unsure they were really there. She hadn't wanted to cry. She never did at times like this. Mary could cry all she wanted at her own stupid frustrations, her arguments with Matthew or her selfish problems. But in a crisis, she bore up. When Matthew had gone missing during the war and then returned home injured, she had been weak; she had been more scared than ever in her life, until tonight. But she had not broken down. She had carried on, made herself useful, maintained an appearance of calm. Mary was one to bear her torture in silence. And now, she knew she would do the same. Her weapon against grief was pragmatism. She busied herself with tasks and turned practical and sensible. On the outside, anyway. On the inside she was breaking. She was broken.

Mary slowly slid out of bed, careful not to wake Matthew. She allowed herself to look at him as she replaced the covers. He looked so sweet, his beautiful eyes shut and his chest gently rising and falling, temporarily unconscious to the horror that had befallen them. Mary wouldn't disturb that for the world. She padded to the door and crept out to the hall. The house was dark, and its many shadows seemed to loom large tonight. Usually the old mansion was full of creaks and groans, but it was silent now. Maybe it knew. It was grieving along with the rest of them.

Her face was wet again when she reached her sister's door. She pushed it open, half-expecting Branson or her mother to be there, but it was empty. Sybil's perfect form lay motionless in bed.

"Oh, dear God!" The words burst from Mary's mouth in a sudden sob. She leaned a hand against the wall for support; her whole body was shaking with the tears that had been repressed by shock a few hours ago. "Dear God, Sybil!" Mary sank to her knees beside the bed and stared at her beautiful sister. She was afraid to touch her; she could not disturb her, not now. Mary clutched the duvet in her hands and bent over it, weeping with her whole body. She could not even feel the tears streaming down her face. All she knew was that the world had ended.

How could life have left her darling sister? How could Sybil just be gone? Her body was right here. _She_ was right here, Sybil, this was her. How was it possible that she would not move or speak or think or laugh again? She was there. Mary could touch her. And yet she was gone.

"Oh, my darling," Mary said. "My darling, whatever are we going to do without you?" She talked for a long time, senseless to the words coming out of her mouth. She only knew that it needed to be said, that Sybil needed to hear it all and Mary needed to say it. Her mind roamed fitfully and tears streamed down her pale cheeks.

_Sybil was always the strong one_. Out of nowhere, Mary's own voice came back to her, something she had said to Matthew during the war. It was true. Mary was not strong, however much she pretended she was. Not like Sybil, who did more than order tea and make sure everything went forward smoothly. Sybil found solutions, offered help, did more than anyone ever expected of her. Mary bore up. Sybil fought back.

Mary's sobs were renewed at this thought; that her sister, so good and pure, was gone and she, so hardened and having made so many mistakes, was not. Were the situation reversed, Sybil would have been infinitely more of a help and comfort to the family than Mary would be in the coming days. Sybil was the best one out of the three of them. She always had been.

"I'll promise I'll try," Mary said, raising her face to look at Sybil again. Her voice was hollow and brittle. "I promise I will, Sybil. I'm not much good at comforting anybody, I know that. But I promise I will try to be as good as you. Always."

Mary sat there for a long time, her mind strangely empty and full at once. She didn't believe in things like spirits, exactly, but she wished she could feel Sybil there somehow, could know that she was listening. The body next to her was so cold, so empty, and Sybil… She was so full of life, so high-spirited. She had to be _somewhere_, didn't she? That all couldn't just evaporate? But it could, Mary reminded herself harshly. Because she was dead. Sybil was dead.

The door opened and Mary's heart leapt out of her chest. She turned to see Matthew in the doorway. His face was full of concern, and Mary felt bad as she realized how it must have felt for him to wake up without her in their bed.

"I—you were gone," he said.

Mary nodded. She pressed her lips together and the tears came as she kept nodding, nodding hard until she was shaking her head and Matthew was kneeling next to her and she was wrapped in his arms, shaking her head over and over. "No," she cried, her voice hoarse. "No, no. Sybil." She clutched Matthew's nightshirt in her fists, breathing in his smell as deeply as she could.

A fresh sob tore itself from Mary's throat, and Matthew could feel his heart breaking all over again. All night, he had watched Mary direct her family members, see the doctors out and notify Carson when her father could not. He knew that tomorrow she would head the funeral arrangements and order the meals. She would send for Lady Violet and comfort her mother. She would handle it with brittle strength, as she did everything. But right now, she gave in to the pain, and if Matthew was thankful for anything on this wretched night, it was that he was there for her as she did. He tightened his arms around her wife and began to rock her, knowing that nothing he did could be enough.

"Darling. Shh, Mary," Matthew murmured, stroking her hair. "My darling. I know. I know. Shh, darling," he was saying, but he was crying too, and Mary knew that nothing would ever be the same again. Her life had been broken into two parts, before Sybil and after Sybil and nothing else mattered.

"Will we ever know peace again?" Mary asked, raising her head. The look in her eyes damned them, her face full of certainty—or perhaps fear—that they never would. Her eyes held Matthew's, but he knew she had already answered her own question. "How are we to carry on?"

"I don't know," Matthew said honestly. "But we will. I promise you we will, Mary. Together."

Mary nodded. She pressed a wet kiss to his jaw, and they stayed like that for a long time, her face pressed against his chin. Matthew's face was scratchy, and Mary could feel hot tears trickling into her hair. He wrapped his arms around her tightly and they sat there with Sybil until, eventually, Mary stirred. Her crying had abated, and she wiped final tears from her cheeks, suddenly feeling how utterly exhausted she was.

"We should get back to bed," she said. "We are going to need our strength for tomorrow."

Matthew's lips twisted in a small, sad smile at the return of practical Mary. He wished he could take over all her responsibilities for her, but he knew that being active would make it far easier for her than staying in bed all day. He pushed her hair away from her face and kissed her cheek.

"Goodbye, Sybil," Mary said, getting to her feet. She leaned over the bed and brushed a thumb across her sister's lily-white cheek. "My darling. Goodbye." She kissed her forehead one last time, and then they walked out of the room and closed the door on her sister, on Sybil, on life as they knew it.

_A/N Sorry for such depressing work! I just had to write something for dear Sybil, and I felt Mary's feelings needed to be explored more. Thanks as always for reading :)_


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